My Post Encounter
by Quaxo
Summary: Sequel to my story "My Encounter". The actions of one night sometimes echo on.


He feels his fingers stray from the agreed upon course, slipping back to slide into the crack of his ass, pressing gently. His breath hitches involuntarily, even as he tries to keep it steady.

_It'll be okay, everything's fine, it won't hurt…_, he thinks, even as the old nausea boils up in his throat and he can taste the stale scotch in his mouth.

_**He tries to make his eyes and fingers coordinate to grab th**__e__** door handle --- throwing up in your boss' car was never a good idea, even if you hated the bastard --- but keeps missing by inches. There's fucking four of them, how can he keep missing? **_

_**There's sharp pain in his ass as fingers rudely push themselves inside. He whines loudly, unable to unclench his jaw to cry out without the very real possibility of throwing up on himself. What the fuck is Kelso doing---**_

"Don't," He moans, pulling the hand away and intertwining his fingers with it, trying to keep the mood up.

The fingers jerk out of his grasp though, as angry blue eyes glare up at him.

"Why?"

"I told you I just… don't."

"How do you know if you've never tried it?"

"I think I know what turns me on, Jessica---"

It's the wrong thing to say, he realizes when J.D. stands, zipping up his fly roughly.

"That's what it's really about, isn't it? If I'm the one taking it that makes me the girl, so you can keep up your precious heterosexual image. I'm sick of it, Perry!"

"It's nawt that, J.D., why can't you just accept that I just don't like it---"

"It's not a _reason_! Give me one good reason why you won't even try this for me!"

"Because it hurts."

The words are from his mouth before he can even think of them, let alone try and stop them from coming. The cold, skeptical look J.D. sends him stings deeper than he'd like. He shouldn't have to put up with this. He didn't like fingers, penises, whatever being shoved up his ass, what was so terribly wrong with that? Why hadn't just told him to fuck off already?

_Why do I have to like him?_

"I thought you'd never been with another guy."

"It was an accident, one time thing," He takes a deep breath, trying not to notice how the hair all over his body is standing on end, fighting against even thinking about that night. "I-I had a little too much to drink, and _someone---_," He'll go to his grave with the knowledge that it was Kelso who popped his cherry back there… "--- gave me a ride home. On the way I started something that I couldn't finish and --- he finished it."

Somewhere during this explanation, his eyes have drifted down to stare at his feet, and even though he realizes what he's doing --- he has nothing to be ashamed about and so why is acting like he does? --- it takes a few moments for him to look at J.D. again. He never told anyone about that night, and Kelso hadn't either. For all intents and purposes it might as well never of happened. He hardly ever thought about it, except when J.D. wanted _that_…

"Do you think that's fucking _funny_, Perry? That's--- you're disgusting. Rape isn't a joke, just ask the millions of women it happens to each day."

"I'm not---"

"I don't want to hear it. When you're ready to apologize and tell me the _real_ reason, come talk to me."

The door slams shut as J.D. leaves, just like everyone else.

Was it a joke? If it is, then J.D.'s right it isn't a funny one. Honestly, he has a hard time remembering, everything happened so quickly, even taking into account his heavily intoxicated state. Who's to say that he didn't just dream the whole incident? Although if he did he's definitely going to have to bring this up with his shrink; having sexual fantasies about Bob Kelso _had_ to be --- _had to be_ --- a sign of serious mental issues.

He remembers standing under the freezing spray of the shower, hours after all of the hot water had run out, staring blankly at the tiles and hoping he wouldn't be walking funny tomorrow.

***///***///***

The night was mostly a washout… Normally about now he'd be at Soon Kim's massage parlor receiving a nice massage and a happy ending courtesy of Aoi's talented mouth. Unfortunately, just as Aoi was motioning him to follow her into the back, his cell phone rang.

Any other day he would've ignored it, taking note of the number though so that later he could give Ted or whoever dared to call him when he was off duty, hell for interrupting his 'fun time'.

Something makes him answer the phone.

"Bob Kelso."

"Dr. Kelso," a strange man on the other end of the line asks, loud noise in the background making him think it's a bar.

"Get to the point son, you're interrupting my fun time."

"You need to pick up your friend. He's too drunk to drive and he won't let us put him in a cab. He wants you."

"Listen, I don't know why you think this is funny, but I don't appreciate it, and if I ever find out who you are I'm going---"

There's sounds of a brief struggle as the phone is tugged back and forth between two people.

"Or you'll what, Bob," A familiar voice sneers on the other end of the line. "Now, pick me up. You know the place."

The old nausea swells up as the phone line goes dead.

***///***///***

He feels a cruel pinch of déjà vu as he walks into a bar.

That can only be one person… He spots Perry Cox, residency director and pain in his ass, hanging onto the bar like it's a life raft. He's fairly deep into his cups; his cheeks red, his eyes glassy, and his face carefully blank, staring hollowly through him. What that moron is thinking, getting plastered when he knows damn well he has a double shift the next day, Kelso doesn't know.

"Beezlebob."

It's the subtle differences: Perry's lack of expression, the latest Britney Spears hit playing on the jukebox, the way his bones ache a bit more than they used to, that remind him that he isn't trapped in one of his nightmares that occasionally haunt him about that night.

Perry stands, stumbling towards him, knocking into patrons and earning dirty glares. Strong arms wrap tightly around his neck, the weight of Perry's body dragging heavily on his.

"Take me home, Bob," Perry whispers, locking eyes with him.

The spell of déjà vu breaks as he sees the alert spark in Perry's eye – something that wasn't there the last time.

"Where's your car, Perry," He asks tightly as he maneuvers the man outside. He is not going to let this turn into a fiasco like last time. Drop Perry off in his car, take the keys and remind Perry to show his ass up to work tomorrow.

"_**No**_, your car," Perry insists, steering them towards the car illegally parked in the handicapped spot.

"What happened," He asks, digging his heels into the pavement, a move that leaves Perry swinging almost comically as he continues to walk ahead. "You didn't call me for another booty call, so why _did_ you call me?"

That finally halts Perry in his tracks.

"I can't – He wants – He didn't --" The words come out in gibberish, eyes and attention wandering. "It happened didn't it?"

This breaks the rules of their mutual confidence – to never speak of that night or what happened in it.

"It did," He answers quietly. He feels the urge to say he's sorry, but ignores it. The Perry he knows wouldn't appreciate it.

"So what was it?"

"Hell, if I know," He can feel his anger rising as Perry drags up all sorts of things he's been trying to bury, "It was a bad night, it was a mistake, it was an accident – hell, call it anything you like. You can call it rape if you wanted --"

"No," Perry says softly. "Take me home."

He's unsettled by how the admission makes him feel, so he gets Perry into the car and takes the long drive back to Perry's apartment. On the way over there he flips the popo the bird and calls someone to meet them.

***///***///***

Now that he's had a chance to cool off and think more clearly he feels ashamed for how he acted. Perry was insensitive, certainly, but he did know how and when to keep it in good taste.

He can't get Perry's eyes out of his head.

He knocks on the apartment door they've been sharing for the past six months, a starting reconciliatory gesture. If Perry wasn't joking – and he was feeling more certain every second that he was – he was going to need it.

The door jerks open – Jordan is standing there, a gloating smirk on her face, and his gut sinks.

"You might want to add 'The Winner Takes It All' to the little playlist you're going to make, DJ, when you're at home sobbing about how unfair all this is. While you're at it, you might want to look into transferring to a new hospital. Just some friendly advice," Jordan grins just as she shuts the door in his face.


End file.
